


After the War Years

by resurrectedhippo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Draco Malfoy, Gen, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 06:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14665607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo/pseuds/resurrectedhippo
Summary: Malfoy has an exhibit in British Wizarding Museum.





	After the War Years

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed (possible wrote when I was a bit drunk too).

After the War Years

"Loving you is like living  
in the war years"  
-Cherríe Moraga, Loving in the War Years 

Harry brought breakfast sandwiches from a café three blocks down from Ron and Hermione's shared flat, opting to walk instead of Floo-ing directly there and bugging Hermione for breakfast. Walking through Diagon Alley and into their Muggle neighborhood had nothing to do with the promotional ads that begged the public to attend the British Wizarding Museum. If Harry glanced at the ad too long and brought himself to the past which evidently led to wondering what if, then no wizard or which can hold it against him. He's known many others who stick their heads in a Pensive to identify where life or romance went wrong. 

Harry knocked loudly, making sure the occupants were aware of his presence before he shoved the spare key Ron pressed into his fingers when they move out of Grimmauld Palace. Once seated on the oak chair and table Hermione's father made the newlywed, Harry grinned over at wrong and passed over a bacon egg sandwich. 

"Extra bacon?" Ron happily asked, already knowing the answer to his own question.

"With an extra egg." Harry waggled his identical sandwich and laughed when Hermione scrunched her nose. 

She was the one eating Doritos and cream cheese for breakfast. Ever since Hermione's father brought a bag of the American chips for her a rare dinner date, she was unable to stop eating the smelly chips. Their pantry was stacked with the red plastic bags, the coffee table's center offered it for public taking but all were too fearful for Hermione's wrath. Harry was sure she kept bags next to her bed. 

The brilliant witch she is, Hermione spelled out the trans-fat but retained the salt and sugary goodness she craved. She supplemented the "crude and punishing" (her words!) craving with pressed juice and other "healthy" sounding meals that Harry didn't bother to listen as she raved. He was enjoying his extra bacon and egg sandwich after all. 

Hermione tossed the morning's Prophet across the dinner table looking every bit triumphant. "Best and longest running exhibit in British Wizarding Museum." 

Reluctantly, Harry picked up the paper choosing the text over Hermione's smug smile. He already knew what the paper would be about. 

"HOGWARTS REVISTED TO 'LOVE, ADDICTIONS, AND OTHER VICES' THE MALFOY ART REIGN CONTINUES" 

By Emily Chen

Over a year ago, ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy's art pieces were featured in the British Wizarding Museum as the main exhibit, 'Hogwarts Revisited.' Many were doubtful about not only his artistic abilities but also questioned how many galleons he paid the curator, Astoria Greengrass, to feature his pieces (Greengrass-Malfoy to be engaged? See p. 4!). Many of you may recall that the opening brought protestors screaming about 'Death-Eater scum' but the wizarding world's curiosity ultimately won out.

Critics and attendees applaud the vulnerability and sorrow Malfoy conveys through pieces. The exhibit is best described as walking through the anguish of war, specifically, the Second Wizarding War. Several acclaimed pieces include a mixed-methods sculpture of a fallen body in greys, browns, and other dark hues with a painting of Hogwarts on the backdrop. The piece, titled, 'Hogwarts from a Far' is definitely one of Malfoy's more subdued pieces. But one cannot forget his self-portrait on the backdrop of a parchment filled with texts, 'D. Malfoy: Student, Son, Death-Eater Scum' or 'A Night in the Astronomy Tower' which is more surreal and frightful for most of the audience that it is installed in a room that bears a sign of viewer discretion. Though Malfoy refuses commentary and interviews his soul is practically served to us in the finest China if one looks at the introductory labels for each piece. 

Hogwarts Revisited is the longest running exhibit in the British Wizarding Museum and will be replaced the coming months for Malfoy's new exhibit, 'Love, Additions, and Other Vices.' Malfoy is unavailable for comment (what's new?), playing off that recluse artist trope no doubt! His manager, Pansy Parkinson of Parkinson and Zabini Management, stated that the exhibit is almost complete except for a few final installments. But we have great news for you readers! As you may know, Draco Malfoy's mixed-medium methods are also performative and interactive. Parkinson Management released a search call for pregnant women to be a model for an installment in the expected exhibit. The women must be comfortable with nudity! Remember witches and wizards, Malfoy is still in the market as the Greengrass-Malfoy engagement is just a rumor! 

"Glad he's doing well." Harry shrugged. 

The papers were sensationalizing Malfoy, but perhaps that was better than what they used to publish about him right after the War and trails. He hasn't been to the exhibit, but Hermione was a big fan, even writing letters to Draco Malfoy and striking up an odd, unexpected friendship with him.

Ron snatched the paper and glanced through it before snorting. "Who would want to be naked in front of Malfoy?" 

"Me, actually." Hermione tutted and took a sip of her tea. 

"Excuse me?" Ron spluttered. He put down his second extra bacon and egg sandwich. 

"Well, I just sent in my interest form and emphasized that I'm Hermione Granger." 

"Look, Hermione, I'm fine with you being friends with Ferret-Face. I even went the exhibit with you and admitted that the bloke was talented, remorseful, and has changed. But you naked? No way!" Ron tried to reason with his wife. 

"Calm down, Ron. You won't like what I have to say next."

Ron glared at Hermione and looked towards Harry for support. 

Hermione continued, "I've already been seeing him!" 

"You aren't cheating on me, are you?" Ron looked indignant. But Harry knew it was a jibe. The two fought like crazy and love each other to the bone, to the core, with every cell for their bodies. He was happy for them and in awe with the people they've become. 

"Merlin, no! No matter how naked I get or any woman for matter of fact, I assure you, Draco doesn't look at me, or any of us that way." Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. Her last comment caught Harry's ear. 

Why doesn't Malfoy look at 'us' that way? Humans? Muggle-borns? Gryffindors? Witches?

"Professional my ass! You've been showing him your body for how long?!" Harry, sensing a major row was about to start, tried to get in between his two friends. He rested a hand on Ron and urged Hermione to explain herself. 

"I've been seeing him for the past four months actually." 

"If you're seeing him, then why did the Prophet write they are still searching for pregnant women?" Harry asked trying to repress his curiosity on Malfoy's life by squeezing Ron's arm. 

"That must be Pansy."

"Pansy is it now?" Ron interrupted, raising an eyebrow. It seemed like he was suppresssing his concern for his wife. 

She did as she pleased. Harry admired that about his two best friends. For superficial audience, Ron's outburst is perceived as a fitful rage, but Harry knew it was deep concern. Anger masked hurt well. As for Hermione, she did want she wanted to because she was a free woman and trusted Ron to support her decisions. He always did. 

"She comes in and out of the studio to pester Draco. Pansy is very good at her job and probably released that statement to further promote Hogwarts Revisited and the upcoming exhibit."

"Why pregnant women?" Harry inquired. 

Ron leaned in and said in an exaggerated hushed tone, "Probably to bewitch their babies or something." 

Despite the disapproving frown on Hermione's lips, her eyes revealed amusement. She turned to Harry, "As the title states love is one of the exhibit's theme."

"A mother's love?" 

"That's just one type of love." Hermione looked at Harry like he was stupid, but sighed when Ron perked up and said, "Like my love for the Chudley Cannons is a different love."

"That's right. Anyways, I'm going again next Thursday evening for our second to last session."

"So, you've been lying to me all this time?" Ron asked, defeated. 

Hermione bit her lip. "I really wanted it to be a surprise for you, love."

"What made you want to tell me now?" Ron rolled his eyes. 

"I tell you everything and keeping it this long was difficult. I hope you enjoy what Draco creates. I've seen some of the sculptures but not in sequence." 

"Fine." Ron muttered.

"So, you'll come to the opening with me? You can come too, Harry, if you'd like." 

"Do I have a choice? If I'm going, I'm taking Harry with me!" 

"Let's go to Hogwarts Revisited now!" Hermione stood up, her big belly prominent in the tight sun dress she wore.

"But it's Sunday, lazy day." Ron protested, still cladded in his pajamas despite that it's already last noon. Harry was unfazed, he would have spent the day in his plaid pajamas if not his standing brunch dates with the Granger-Weasleys.

"Your very pregnant wife is asking you to do something for her." Harry teased Ron and earned a punch in the arm. 

"I've already been there before! You go there twice a month!" 

"There's just so much to learn and see. I'm reading up on Muggle psychology ever since Draco mentioned it on one of his labels. Merlin, it's spectacular." Harry wasn't sure if she meant psychology, labels, or Draco. 

To alleviate Ron and let him cool off, Harry volunteered himself. He wasn't interested in art and portraits and sculptures. While he saw Malfoy a few times in passing in Diagon Alley since he returned and apparently disrupted the art and wizarding world, Harry hasn't spoken to him other than the brief, polite greetings. 

*

Harry realized it no longer mattered how many times he spent sixth year following Malfoy or how he spent his entire time at Hogwarts looking at him from a far. He'd never figure Malfoy out and standing in front of his art his no different. He will come to accept it, he thinks in that moment, that Malfoy is not someone his mind can comprehend. His brain refuses cohesive thoughts regarding Malfoy. Nothing made sense, and nothing was casual when it came to Malfoy. 

The next piece stole his breathe and he had the urge to sit and put his head between his knees. He felt Hermione squeeze his hand, not realizing when she came to hold it. 

It was moving portrait of a man falling off the Astronomy Tower. He seemed to fall for eons until the portrait returned to the beginning. A flash of light like thunder, but it came from the wand that took over half of the canvas. The man's face resigned as if he expected to be struck followed by a small smile, the swish of his robes and fall into the darkness. 

Harry remembered Dumbledore's resigned face when Snape struck him and Draco Malfoy's shaking body as he pulled his wand down. He doesn't have to tell Hermione this. She already knows, but he had the urge to talk about that night and Malfoy. 

How he wished to speak to Malfoy now. 

"Draco learned a lot from the Muggles but he's his own. If they only knew about magic and saw this, he'd be a legacy to them all." Hermione referred to Malfoy's use of muggle methods - painting with a brush, sculpting with his hands. He used magic in the end when he charmed them to life. "What do you think about the exhibit?" 

Curiosity brought him to this building. He was always honest with his friends. "It feels like coming home." It wasn't because the pieces centered around Hogwarts and the War but because all the pieces were touched and brought to life by Malfoy. A man he's always sought to see in black and white but never could. He was always greys full of potential to swing to either light or dark. But here in the confines of the gallery, he made color. He's much more. 

Harry wished to see him Malfoy with every cell in his body. He wondered if his desire was magical enough to will Malfoy into existence. 

Torn between wanting to leave a chosen home for him - because Dumbledore made sure he returned to the Wizarding World even after being away for most of his childhood - and feeling like he is where he belongs, Harry stepped away. 

"You should tell him that."

"Why?"

"He'd appreciate it." 

"Our paths don't really cross these days." 

"It will when you come to the exhibit's opening." Hermione dragged him to a seclude section in the open room. It required them to enter a short hall. "I think you'll like this one best." 

Pulling Harry into the room, she led him into the center and stepped away, letting him experience the piece. 

On the wall was a canvas that spanned the entire wall. It was a portrait of Hogwarts shifting from darkness like the day of the Battle until it slowly turned into a warm hue as if dawn was coming and filtering every stroke. Again, it transitioned from dark - the battle that went from night to day - to light. Dawn. 

Of course, Malfoy would capture the moment when the battle was over. When light filtered thorough and they finished dragging the lifeless bodies into the Great Hall. Malfoy wasn't there when Hermione and Ginny along with other students identified the deceased and wrote their names on a parchment to send to the Ministry. But maybe he was there, looking at the castle from afar before he apparated with his parents. 

On the floor was a body made of plaster. The sculpture was life-like. Its hands twitched, and its body shook as it tried to get up. It turned to face the audience, staring for a moment before it smiled and fell asleep. It repeated over and over again, it's form succumbing to sleep when the painting on the wall turned to dawn. 

It was as if the dying body wanted to see Hogwarts in light again. As if it waited to see soft light illuminating the castle before passing into the veil - the platform.

Harry stood there, not sure for how long. He felt his cheeks wet and a tang of salt on his lips.

Who were they without the war? Without the grueling expectations for them - still children when were told of the war - to become soldiers of the Ministry, of the Wizarding world? Yes, he chose the noble path but who is he without the trauma of almost dying every year and without an external force controlling his life? 

He's barely finding out and he doesn't the Auror robes are fitted to tell him who he is. It tells him who he is supposed to be. 

It seemed like Draco Malfoy knew who he was. Harry wandered throughout the rest of the exhibit, stopping by a portrait of Severus Snape. Draco captured his sneer and the transitions to not a smile but a softness in his eyes. 

Snape didn't die just for Harry. 

Feeling like the room was closing in on him with all the memories of Hogwarts and the War coming at once and supplemented by images of Draco Malfoy's perspective felt like several punches on his stomach. He had to leave. 

Hermione was by his side at once, leading him into an open field with a lazy river outside the museum. The garden was trimmed to perfection. Immaculate and false, unlike inside where it was cruel, striking, and true. 

*

Hermione stepped out of his fireplace, big belly emphasized by her fitted dress. Her hair was tied up in a loose ponytail. Harry suspected she used bottles of potions to keep it up. It's already refusing the band that keeps it in place. Hermione generally liked her hair down and wild (which was lovely) despite all her comments about its annoyance in her life. 

It's summer and warm when they walked around the Burrow yesterday. Hermione promised to shave her head if she was unable to get her hair in a ponytail. "Looks like you managed." Harry had the urge to ruffle her hair but suspected he'd be hexed. He tried to help her into a chair instead. 

"No, get in the shower or Scrougify yourself because we're leaving in five minutes." 

"Where are we going?" Harry rubbed the back of his and casted the cleaning charm. 

"Draco's exhibit." Ron sighed. 

Harry paused. For some reason, he felt like he should have showered instead of asking a scrougify. He stopped himself from doing so just to prevent Hermione's questioning gaze. 

"I thought that was tomorrow." 

"He's opening it up for The Quibbler, The Prophet, and some other art magazines. The reporters won't be able to get in tomorrow. There's already a line outside the museum." 

Impressed, Harry laughed. Draco made it. 

"Take my hand, we'll Floo to Astoria Greengrass' office."

"Should pregnant women really be going out Floo-ing and Apparating to all these places?" Harry grumbled something about stress on the body while Hermione glared and lectured him about female independence. 

"I hear you, mate." Ron grinned at him and blew a kiss to his wife. 

When they stepped out of the Floo, there was a portrait in front of them - a handsome wizard in a white shirt, blond hair framing his face as he hummed in a tune Harry didn't recognize. His fingers grazed piano keys as the woman beside him strummed a guitar. They duo with the Muggle instruments didn't acknowledge their entrance but kept playing, swaying, and looking at each other as if they were challenging who would break first. 

Harry swallowed the hurt he felt at being ignored and focused on the music. He smiled despite himself and found himself yearning for more as the last keys were struck. 

"You know not to clap, Granger."

"That's Hermione, Draco." She tutted back. 

"Fine. Hello, Hermione." At that, Draco turned from the grand piano with a confused look. Harry knew it was because of his presence in the room.

"Brought my husband and a friend, hope you don't mind." 

Harry waited for the punch line. 'At least isn't not a Weasley' or 'Better him than a Weasel.' But it didn't come. 

Then it did. "Well, I did tell you only special people were allowed for today's viewing." Draco closed the fall board before standing up and offering a hand to the woman on his left. "I'm positive Harry Potter and Ron Weasley don't need an introduction. This is Astoria Greengrass." 

"Sounds familiar." Ron his hand from Hermione's waist drop to shake Astoria Greengrass' hand.

"The name sounds familiar because I'm Daphne Greengrass' sister. I attended the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts."

"Ah. Hi." Harry spluttered. 

"Still as eloquent as ever, Potter." The sarcasm dripping from Malfoy's voice was softened by the small smile on his lips. He was teasing Harry.

"Well, you know me. Just run out with my wand hanging from my ass and hope for the best." Harry grinned and hoped Draco would appreciate the gibe. 

It was better. He laughed then patted Astoria Greengrass who rested her head on his shoulder. Something turned in Harry's stomach but he ignored it and plastered a faux-grin. Draco raised his eye brows but raised silent.

"Pansy, Luna, and other reports are already in the exhibit hall. Shall we go?" Harry expected her to hold onto Malfoy's arm, but Astoria stepped out and offered her hand to Hermione instead. She led them out with Draco in tow. 

If Harry watched Malfoy's arse, no wizard or witch can blame him. If Ron nudged him before rolling his eyes dramatically and muttering about how somethings never changed, Harry ignored him.

In the middle of the hall were an underwhelming number of reports and photographers. He suspected that Pansy only chose the best ones to appear on site. 

They were gathered around a circular installment, titled, The End of War. There were seven sculptures floating in the air slightly above their heads. The wizards and witches on site walked carefully around each other taking photographs and jotting notes in a parchment. 

Beside him, Hermione gasped before sobbing and throwing her arms around Malfoy. "This is beautiful, Draco." 

"It's all you. I'm just a medium that captures this."

"Now imagine if he captured your face as well. This would be in the British Wizarding Archives or even Wizagoment."

"Hermione Granger's face and naked body willing them to make ethical decisions." Harry watched transfixed as Draco Malfoy petted Hermione Granger's hair and kissed her temple. 

"Merlin, if you did, I bet Skeeter would be the first to write how I'm a dirty, disgraceful witch cheating on her respectable husband."

"For an ex-Death Eater no less." Draco deadpanned. 

Hermione hummed. "I'd say successful artist, instead." 

"I have Pansy and Astoria to thank for that." 

"It's good you know that, darling. Why don't you take Potter through the rest of the exhibit while I pester Hermione about Ministry funding for the arts?" Astoria Greengrass' raised eye brow can only be interpreted as pointed look. 

They stared at each other, communicating silently. Harry was once again struck with a small dose of jealousy. He's not jealous of Malfoy and his possible fiancé but rather the deep connection they must have to say a thousand possible things wordlessly. Like wandless magic.  
"I am under the impression you know nothing about the arts." Draco walked towards the other side of the room. He stood in what looked like a small potions lab. The table on the center had a cauldron hanging over a small fire. There were empty bottles of potions scattered on the table.

"No, but I can appreciate it." Harry moved forward and read the labels. Upon closer inspection, they bore the names of several potions Harry was familiar with. Some not. 

Sleeping Draught. Potions of Dreamless Sleep. Felix Felicis. Calming Draught. Awakening Potions. Happy Day Potions. 

Malfoy interrupted his reverie before he had a chance to inquire. "As you can see the exhibit is called Love, Addictions, and Other Vices." 

This particular installment before them was titled, Brewing. 

"I started making my own. Experimented and made my own potions. Several potions company tried to buy the rights for Happy Day but I refused and destroyed the recipe after Pansy slapped me for a full hour."

Harry didn't need to ask about what the potion's affects. 

"Did she make you stop?" 

"She can't make me do anything I don't want to do."

"Still a stubborn prick after all these years." 

"Still a righteous, irritating pig-headed git yourself." 

Harry smiled. It was nice to return to their banter. This was familiar territory. 

"The potions helped with the nightmares and they certainly assisted in providing me ideas for my projects the first few years. I stopped because at one point I preferred lying on my arse and the sensation of the potions running through my body rather than picking up my tools. My brush. The clay." 

"Making art can be a high in itself." 

"Only you'd say something so absurd. Did you pick up the Quibbler before you got here? I admit, it is, but it's a gradual high. One has to be patient for the outcome."  
They walked to the next installment. Harry was not a man easily repulsed but the sight of flesh - a seemingly live beckoning hand and arm - made him cringe. 

On the arm was the Dark Mark. 

The label on the side read, Marked and Marred, but it was crossed out. Beside it stated, Please Touch Me. 

Plaster, Charmed to Move

Harry wondered if it was incidental. Malfoy wouldn't make the mistake. He could have charmed the parchment and erased it if he wished. But life isn't that easy - he cannot charm his body and erase the mark and scars on his flesh. Some Harry left on Malfoy himself. 

Didn't anyone want to touch Malfoy? Did they find him repulsive? Was it because of the Mark? 

"Merlin, Malfoy. You really go all out don't you?" 

"There's something symbolic about shaking the hand of a person you learned to despise."

"Will you be keeping track of how many times the attendees touch it?" 

"I'd be pleased to know if even one person shook it." 

"You're different." Harry stated. He looked at Malfoy - Draco. He's grown a bit taller since their Hogwarts days but still just as lean and sharp. His eyes are softer, less burdened with the demands of the world. Yet he looks like he's still haunted by the ghosts of the past - the War -- they both can never vanquish. 

"So are you." 

There were questions on the tip of his tongue. Harry bit his cheek from spitting them out. This thing with Malfoy was tentative. They've spoken after years apart. But like Hogwarts Revisited, it feels like coming home.

There was never anywhere else he should be. Anywhere else was wrong. Now he understood why. No one will ever be for him like Draco Malfoy. Before, he believed the history between them was too great of an ocean to cross, to sail through. He forced himself to stay on the shore as Draco drifted away.

Dripping his feet into the sea, following its call and leaving the security the land provides. He almost wants to sob. It comes at him quickly, forcefully, and Harry wondered why he adamantly refused to make these connections before. 

He believed that the history between them was too great of an ocean to journey through but the ocean itself was the reason to cross. No one could ever usurp the presence and influence of Draco Malfoy in his life. Not even Harry.

No matter how much he tried. 

Harry held out his hand await Malfoy to ease his surprised features into something neutral. But it doesn't come.

Instead a beatific grin breaks out of his face. It starts out small just the one corner of his mouth until the other side follows and then he laughs. By the time he clasped Harry's hand a pleased Draco Malfoy was born. 

"After all these years?" Harry knows they're both recalling the moment in the Great Hall so many years ago. 

"You said something about patience and a gradual high?" Harry couldn't help the smile on his face. If it stayed throughout the whole exhibit and if Hermione eyed him knowingly, Harry would proudly state that it is because of Draco Malfoy. 

"Keep flattering yourself, Potter." 

"What was on your mind when you made the pieces for Hogwarts Revisited?" 

"Nothing. Rather, it was a feeling. Hence the Calming Droughts," he pointed towards Brewing. "I tried to stop it. The potions helped for a while. Happy Days was to feel something again."

"How did you stop?" 

"Pansy slapped me and got me this gig. Introduced me to Astoria. I'm still recovering, you know." 

Harry hummed. So was he. But not from potions, but nightmares and gruesome expectations, which he knew Draco had too. He was glad Draco had dedicated friends that matched his own. "Malfoy, I'm happy for you." 

Draco looked surprise, a new look on him. Possibly because the words came from Harry. "Thank you, Potter." He stared Harry down before glancing away. They walked across the hall, stopping at every installment as Harry read the labels. At the end was a still-life painting in greens and blues. The subjects were on a broom, miniscule compared to the focus on the landspace. It was Quidditch.

The entire exhibit was lovely and will have spectacular, shining reviews by all reporters. It was Draco Malfoy. He didn't do anything in halves. Despite its provoking aura, it was still difficult to comprehend all Draco Malfoy was letting him see. 

It was intimate. To read his writing on the parchment labels and have him explain his additions, like he didn't with Please Touch Me. An addition to validation, for acceptance, for love, no matter how distorted these desires were. 

Harry tried to lighten the mood. "You still haven't beaten me in Quidditch." 

Malfoy knowing a challenge, smirked before shaking his head. "I have my old broom. It's been a while since I've been on a pitch." 

"When did you start sculpting, drawing, making art?" 

"I'd probably have died as an unknown artist if not for Pansy. She's dating Daphne Greengrass." 

"Oh." 

"Problem?" 

"No, of course now." 

"How's Ginny Weasley?"

"Incredible and too good for words." Not knowing if Malfoy kept tabs on him, Harry wanted to clarify, "It was an amicable break-up, after the war actually." 

Draco hummed. "It's been awhile then. What about now?" 

"Not much. Just work and hanging out with Ron and Hermione. What about you, the Prophet wrote about your engagement with Astoria Greengrass."

"Complete speculation and utter rubbish." 

"Yeah, well I guess to people you can't be friends with the opposite sex unless you're gay."

"Well, we work out since I am and so is she. We laugh and write songs about the bollocks the Prophet writes." 

It occurred to Harry that Malfoy opened a dam and allowed his most intimate thoughts to fill the gallery. He was evidently apologetic for his past but didn't adhere blame towards his parents, but rather the notion of fear - fear to no longer exist, for magic to cease. But here, standing in the room of his creations, things he made by hand, he was proud. But he looked unlike his self from their Hogwarts days… There was something else. 

It was an unapologetic defiance and willingness to unravel himself. 

Harry realized with a jolt that it's always been Draco Malfoy for him. His nemesis and rival - a boy who irritated him at the best of times and a boy he punched and casted Sectumsempra on the worst of times. Draco was the man who had no expectations of him other than a hope to defeat Voldemort. Draco was his rival who refused to identify him and didn't put up a fight for his wand. Draco was naked before him long before Harry ever thought about Draco's bare skin. He let Harry have his wand, going wandless, allowing himself to be vulnerable to any attack. 

It comes to him like it's something he's always known but didn't have words for - as if it was unlocked with a simple key. He was in love with Draco Malfoy and it wasn't just because of seeing him after all these years. He's always been in love with him, except this realization was veiled under the pretense of hate and rivalry and their own upbringings. Perhaps, it wouldn't have been possible at Hogwarts, but it was possible now. Harry planned to do something about it. 

"It's you." Draco whispered, taking the words out of Harry's mouth. Only then did Harry realize that he was standing on a portrait of himself. But it was without the Auror robes he wore on most days, but just jeans and a t-shirt. The background was empty as if Draco was giving him a choice on what to make it. 

They had choices, but not many. Their decisions were always almost made for them - Draco and Harry, puppeteers of a generation of adults making mistakes. 

Harry nodded and turned to Draco. He wanted to tell him that it's also Draco for him - and always will be. This is not something Harry can find anywhere else and he wants badly to wrap his hands around the possibility of loving someone with such intensity and being loved back.

But he had no idea if Malfoy even saw him that way. 

What are Gryffindor's if not reckless? (Hermione, of course.) 

"It's like living in the war years." Harry said.

Draco shook his head. "It's looking back at it. We're no longer there." 

With Malfoy, it was living in the war years. His lungs ached like he couldn't breathe, his body trembled, he ached to run away but held his ground. Because he realized - 

"Malfoy." Harry paused. "This will sound completely crazy because you and I haven't seen each other in years and we've only spoken for the last hour after years of rivalry and violence." Harry took a deep breath and looked into Malfoy's eyes. He only saw glimmer that urged him to continue. "But I just realized. It's you. I always come back to you. No matter how much I want to leave and follow elsewhere. Did you know you were the first wizard of my age I ever spoke to?" 

"Madam Malkin's? I remember."

"You were a right haughty bastard even then."

"I'm sorry for what I said about Hagrid."

Harry knew Malfoy was repenting so he nodded and smiled in encouragement. "I'm at awe of who we've become, Malfoy." 

"I reckon to some we will always be the ex-Death Eater and the Boy Who Lived." Harry nodded, agreeing with the sentiment before Draco continued. "But I learned that I'm more than that. So are you." 

"Why'd you draw me?" 

"Potter, if you have no clue, you're truly hopeless." 

"Well, subtly isn't my strong suit."

"I drew a portrait of you. That's hardly subtle." Draco bit his cheeks as he flushed. 

"You think of me." Harry stated rather than asked. 

"From time to time." 

"Bollocks." Harry looked at the portrait again, seeing himself through Draco's eyes. Harry thought he was okay looking, average in fact. It warmed him to see that Draco didn't take any liberties in hiding the other scars on his face. "You must have thought something of me to paint this."

"Yes, you're an annoying git." 

"And?" 

"And that you're one of the best, most noble people I know to the point that it's infuriating." 

The admission must not have come easy but the tone of Draco's voice is genuine just as much as he's resigned. As if he wanted to say this for so long. Harry saw him sigh.

"But I think of you time and time again. Sometimes constantly. Despite never having an amicable conversation since being in each other's life, you're an intimate part of it. You changed my life, Potter, and not just because you saved me." 

"Do you think we can be friends?" 

"Yes, we can be friends. And perhaps, later, something more." 

Harry grinned and held out his hand for Draco. His beloved took his hand into a hand shake (the second one of today), but when Draco tried to pull away, Harry held on. He intertwined their fingers, weaving together their magic, their history, and future. 

Harry held on. 

And if the Quibbler, the Prophet, and Art Chronicles snapped the photo that sold more newspapers than Gilroy Lockhart's books and Harry's unauthorized biographies combined, no one in the Wizarding world blinked an eye - they rioted, cheered, and found the possibility of living beyond the war years.

Of course, six months later, Rita Skeeter would publish a piece entitled, "Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, from Hexes at Hogwarts to Dating and Nude Portraits!"


End file.
